When the Rest of the World Walks Out
by Esther-Channah
Summary: Born Again AU. After the grand jury's ruling is handed down, Foggy can't help wondering if he could have done more. He decides to drop in on Matt and make sure that he's doing all right.
1. Chapter 1

References: Daredevil, Volume 1, #203, 227

_"A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out." _

_—Walter Winchell_

**When the Rest of the World Walks Out**

Driving back to his apartment, Foggy couldn't help thinking that he could have done more; that there was some obvious argument or precedent that he and Matt had both overlooked that would have changed the outcome. Because despite the evidence against him, Foggy knew that there was no way that Matt had bribed a witness to perjure himself on the stand. There had to have been some way to refute the charges.

A memory washed over him and with it, a cold sweat. There had been a case that Matt had taken on months ago, a childhood... well, not a childhood _friend_. More of a tormentor. And Matt had subconsciously planned a poor defense and eschewed plea bargains that a first-year law student would have realized were in the client's best interest. Foggy believed Matt when he said that he hadn't known just how badly Stymie's actions had wounded him years earlier. He hadn't realized that his resentment was influencing the way that he chose to argue Stymie's defense. Now Foggy wondered whether, without realizing it, he could been harboring some resentment toward Matt which could have similarly impacted his own arguments.

Their friendship and their working relationship had suffered their ups and downs over the years, and Foggy knew that he'd blamed Matt, at least partly, for the bankruptcy of their former practice. After all, while he'd been struggling to keep the firm afloat, Matt had gone gallivanting off to Arizona, to Venice, to who knew where else... but he hadn't been holding up his share of the partnership. And on the personal front, Foggy hadn't been impressed with the way Matt had treated Heather either.

As he stopped the car at a red light, he had to ask himself whether he might not have been guilty of the same sort of self-sabotage of which he'd accused Matt. He closed his eyes, shook his head and let out a long breath. True, he'd scored a partial victory and managed to keep Matt out of prison, but being disbarred was no joke.

The grand jury inquest hadn't been Matt's only problem these last few months. They hadn't really discussed anything but the case in detail, but from a few comments dropped in passing, Foggy knew that Matt's assets had been frozen, that two mortgage payments on his home had somehow gone missing, his phone was disconnected, his accountant had dropped him. His girlfriend... Foggy winced. Glorianna O'Breen had dumped Matt not long ago. Now, while Foggy wasn't exactly _dating_ her, it was fair to say that he was _seeing_ her. She'd picked up the phone in his apartment when Matt had called to ask for his help. Matt had never asked about it, but he had to have wondered.

A car behind him honked, startling him into realizing that the light had changed. He quickly started across the intersection, but his thoughts were still on Matt. There had to be something they'd overlooked and they were going to find it. In fact, he was going to drive over there right now and reassure him that, as far as he was concerned, this wasn't over. He didn't know if Matt would be up for planning a course of action tonight; with the verdict and the disbarment only hours old, he might want a breather. But the two men hadn't just been business partners. They were best friends. And there was no way that Foggy could turn his back on his best friend after a day like this.

He nodded to himself as he turned east. He could pick up some pizza on the way to Matt's. It would almost be like old times...

* * *

He was less than fifteen blocks from Matt's house (though in this traffic, it was taking longer than it should to get there) and stopped at another red light when he felt himself shaking. He frowned, wondering whether he was really that nervous about showing up at Matt's unannounced, when he realized that it wasn't just him. The Styrofoam cup of coffee he'd picked up in the pizza place was trembling in the holder. The two flat boxes of pizza seemed to twitch. On the sidewalks, the lamp posts and trees were vibrating. Then there came a roar, which Foggy heard even though his car windows were fully closed. Ahead of him, he saw a corona of fire rise up toward the sky. It almost looked like a volcano erupting. What the hell...? His heart lurched. That had to be right around...

The light changed and Foggy continued to his destination as swiftly as he dared, all the while praying that the blast hadn't come from Matt's place.

* * *

The only other time that Foggy had ever seen Matt cry had been when they'd come back from the morgue after identifying Jack Murdock's body. It had been the first time that Foggy had seen a dead body. He'd gone with Matt, not only for moral support, but because neither he, nor the police officers who'd come to notify them, had been sure how Matt would be able to identify a face he couldn't see. Matt's hand had barely trembled as he'd traced the battered contours of his father's visage, but Foggy had seen him pale, even as his too-controlled voice had confirmed, "Yes. That's him."

Foggy wondered how Matt could be so sure. It looked like someone had worked over "Battlin' Jack" Murdock with a baseball bat before shooting him. He forced himself to look at the ugly wounds and the waxen shell that had been a living, breathing human being so very recently and managed a strangled nod. He started to put his arm around Matt, but Matt was already striding quickly away.

"We can drive you back," one of the officers started to say.

"I'll walk," Matt cut him off politely but firmly and headed out of the building.

Foggy hesitated for only the barest instant before running after his best friend. Matt kept his collar up and his shoulders hunched as he hurried along the dark New York streets, holding his white cane before him, but hardly touching its tip to the pavement and never once pausing to get his bearings. At first, Foggy thought that Matt didn't realize that he was following him, but when he had to stop to catch his breath, Matt stopped as well, waiting for him to catch up, before continuing at a somewhat slower pace. Matt didn't say a single word on the way to the dormitory and, once back inside their room, he flung himself face-down on his bed and buried his face in the pillow.

Foggy looked on helplessly, not knowing what to say or do, but knowing that he couldn't just turn his back on a friend. Finally, he sat down on the edge of Matt's bed and awkwardly rested a hand on his shoulder. A strangled sound came from the pillow, too loud for a whimper, too soft for a sob. With his free hand, Foggy reached for the tissue box on the night table and placed it on the pillow. Matt took one with a muffled 'thank you'.

Foggy closed his eyes and shook his head, hating the situation, hating the helplessness, hating seeing Matt this broken. "I'm here for you, buddy," he said softly. Under his hand, Matt's shoulder tensed. Now what had he...? Right. Matt had a hard time accepting help, even when it was warranted. Two of their professors had a habit of writing supplemental notes on the whiteboards without reading them aloud. Matt never let on that it was a problem for him. Instead, he found ways around it—reviewing the lessons with Foggy and filling in the gaps that way. Foggy hadn't realized that Matt was doing it, until he'd found his friend groaning over a failed quiz in Critical Legal Thought. He hadn't been able to find a study partner for that class and Foggy wasn't taking it, having chosen a different elective instead. Convincing Matt that he needed to talk to the professor about it had been like pulling teeth. He _hated _admitting that he needed help. Foggy just hadn't realized how much he also hated _accepting_ help, even if it was offered instead of requested.

Foggy shook his head again. "Matty," he said, trying to find something he could say that wouldn't backfire, "I..." he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry." _If there's anything I can do, just let me know... only you won't, because you never do and I don't know if offering now will hurt more, so I'm just going to sit here, for as long as you don't seem to mind. _"I only met your dad once, but once was all it took to see that he was a great guy and he didn't deserve this." He opened his eyes again and looked down at Matt.

Matt rolled over onto his side and gripped Foggy's forearm wordlessly. His face was red, creased from pressing into the wrinkles in the pillow case, and he looked lost without his glasses (they'd remained on the pillow when he rolled over).

"I can take notes for both of us tomorrow, if you need time to get your head together."

Matt nodded. "You're staying in tonight?" He sounded tired.

"I was planning to," Foggy nodded back automatically. "But if you need some time alone, I could..."

"No!" It came out louder than either of them expected. "No," Matt repeated a bit more softly. "I'd rather not be alone right now."

"I'm here."

Matt closed his eyes. "Thanks."

* * *

Foggy was thinking about that night now, as he practically bolted out of his car, racing to the rubble that had been Matt's brownstone. Matt was kneeling at the edge of the debris, tears leaking out from under his glasses, pouring down his cheeks as he clutched a ragged piece of red fabric tightly in both hands.

"Matt! I saw the explosion from ten blocks away! What happened?"

Matt didn't respond.

Foggy took a good look at the fabric and froze when he saw the double-D insignia. How had Matt...? "You kept Mike's costume all these years?" he exclaimed.

Matt tilted his head then. "Mike...?" he asked in seeming puzzlement.

Foggy blinked. Matt's twin brother Mike had been the original Daredevil, or so Matt had told them ages ago, when they were just starting their practice. Following Mike's death in a plane crash, the mantle had passed to someone else. Matt hadn't seemed as broken up as one might have expected upon the loss of a sibling, but for him to have held on to the costume all these years... His eyes widened. _Unless..._ He pushed the thought away. There would be time to deal with that idea later.

Still on his knees Matt shifted marginally closer. "Foggy?" he asked hoarsely.

"I'm right here, pal," he said, kneeling next to him. He would have put a hand on his shoulder, but Matt recoiled.

"Why?" His voice was harsh, almost accusing, but the anger was gone in an instant. "Why did you come here?" he nearly whispered.

Foggy blinked, taken aback by the initial hostility. "Because your phone's been disconnected and I wanted to tell you in person that I wasn't going to rest until we get today's ruling overturned and you get your license back," he said simply.

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did, Matt seemed to retreat into his quilted jacket. "Thanks. I..." His voice trailed off. "I..."

What did you say to guy who'd lost his career, his reputation, and his home on the same day? Foggy reached for Matt's shoulder again. This time, Matt let him. When several long minutes passed and Matt didn't say anything further, Foggy took a deep breath and asked, "What are you going to do now?"

Matt considered. "I guess I can get a..." He shook his head miserably. "No. I _can't_ get a room at the Plaza until the IRS unfreezes my accounts. I..."

"You can stay at my place," Foggy said firmly.

A surprised smile flashed across his face, but it vanished almost instantly. "I couldn't impose on—"

"It's not an imposition," Foggy cut him off.

Matt frowned. "Don't you and Glori need your space?"

"What?"

Now it was Matt who seemed taken aback. "When I called you about taking my case," he said, "she answered your phone at seven a.m. I thought..."

"Matt," Foggy sighed, "I wish you'd asked. She'd had a burglary at her place the day before and she was afraid to be alone. She did spend the night with me, but I slept on the sofa. Since then, she's been around. I mean, she's Debbie's niece and I didn't stop being friendly to her just because Debbie and I separated, but believe me, we aren't dating and we aren't sleeping together."

He sighed. "Look, you can't stay here. I've got two pizzas in the car. We'll go back to my apartment and reheat them and after that," he sighed, "if you really don't want to stay over, I'll pay for the Plaza and you can reimburse me when the IRS gets its act together."

Matt hesitated.

Foggy draped his arm across his shoulders, gratified that Matt neither resisted nor protested. "Come on," he said, rising to his feet and pulling Matt after him. "It's snowing again. Weatherman predicts another six inches by morning. You really want to freeze out here just so you can prove a point?"

For the barest instant, another smile flickered across Matt's lips. "No," he admitted. "And... if you're sure you're okay with it, maybe I will stay at your place. I... I'd rather not be alone right now."

Foggy tightened his grip on Matt's sleeve. "I'm here."

"Thanks." Matt took a deep breath. "But _I'm_ taking the sofa."

"Deal."


	2. Chapter 2

References: Man Without Fear #1, Daredevil Vol. 1 No. 228.

**Chapter 2**

Even before Matt came fully awake the next morning, he knew something was different. For one thing, this wasn't his bed. The mattress was a good deal softer and beneath the palms of his hands, the cotton fabric was padded. Letting his fingers run lightly over the fabric, he found that it was grooved with lines of stitching running through it at regular intervals that crisscrossed on the diagonal. He had to be lying on top of a bedspread instead of under it. There was another blanket over him that felt like a duvet or a comforter. He rolled over with a groan and felt cracker crumbs under his cheek. He didn't eat in bed! Where was he?

Something else was different, he realized. For the first time in weeks, he was warm. Ever since Con-Edison had turned off the heat in his brownstone, he'd slept huddled under extra blankets, but sooner or later, the cold air would slip through, brushing his face, seeping into the chinks between sheet and covers, rousing him for another day of hell. No. Hell, at least, had heat. And today, apparently, so did he.

If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up, but even as he fought to hold onto sleep, bits and pieces of yesterday began to return. The grand jury's verdict... the long walk home—with his last ten dollars in his pocket, he hadn't wanted to pay for cab fare, nor even bus fare... the explosion that had demolished his house... Foggy. Foggy had found him after the blast, brought him back here. And then... what?

His forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember. He'd had a headache. No great shock there; the explosion had played havoc with most of his remaining senses and his stress level hadn't helped matters. The smoke blowing in his face, wafting over, under, and around his glasses, stinging his eyes to tears hadn't helped either. (He refused to consider any other reason why he might have been crying yesterday.) He remembered Foggy getting him into the car, the smell of the pizzas making his mouth water as he'd held them on his lap in the front seat. He'd been too keyed up to eat before the verdict and then he'd told himself that he could wait until he got home to eat. Only home had blown up in his face.

He came fully awake in an instant. _Kingpin!_ It had finally come clear yesterday. Somehow, the Kingpin had learned Matt's identity and set out to ruin him. He'd been behind everything. Which meant that as long as Matt stayed here, Foggy was in danger. Matt pushed away the duvet and willed himself to rise.

He sat up and his head started to spin again. He tried to focus, remembering how Stick had trained him, had helped him to adjust to his enhanced senses, so that his clothes didn't make him itch (unless they were woolen. Wool next to his skin had made him itch even before the accident.), and so that he could walk through a food court without choking on the smells of fried food mingling with grilled, mixing with perfumes, colognes, deodorants, and aftershaves that masked—but never completely hid—the body's natural odors. He had to concentrate. He had to get out of bed, get his coat, get out of Foggy's apartment... and he would. In just another minute, he would. He...

He sank back to the bed and pulled the duvet back up. It was warm and he hadn't been warm in so long. And he was tired...

* * *

When he woke again, he guessed that it was late morning or early afternoon from the sound of the traffic outside the window. Cars were moving freely and he didn't hear many horns honking, so it wasn't rush hour. He supposed that if he got out of bed and opened the window, he could get a better idea of the time from the angle of the sun, but he wasn't really that interested. He was warm. He was relatively comfortable. And he was still tired.

He should probably get up and have breakfast. He'd eaten more than half a pizza last night, but that had been hours ago. He needed to eat if he was going to train and he needed to train if he was going to beat the Kingpin and get his life back. And until he did beat the Kingpin, his staying here was doing nothing but painting a giant target on Foggy's back. He shouldn't think of targets. Kingpin _had_ used Bullseye in the past. If he was using him again, it would be that much harder for Matt to beat him. And he had to beat the Kingpin.

Which meant that he had to get out of this nice, warm bed and out of this nice, warm apartment and back out on the mean, cold streets of New York. He had to find a gym and he had to start training...

He burrowed under the covers once more. He was tired.

He heard footsteps outside the door and he tensed, coming wide awake in a moment. It had to be Kingpin. Somehow, the crimelord had found him. Probably had someone watching the house, watching Matt crying over his house (it had just been because of the smoke, damn it!), watching him get into Foggy's car, tailing him and reporting back to...

"Matt? Are you awake?"

Foggy. And only Foggy. With a sigh, he got up to open the door. Then he stopped. Foggy was alone, true... but was there anyone else in the apartment? Matt listened intently, expanding his focus outward. Yes, there were other heartbeats. He could hear them now. Three... four other people. Wait. Something was off. One of them had a heart rate of over 150 beats per minute and a breathing rate of 40—understandable if they were nervous—but he found no corresponding fear or stress smell in the pheromones, and he should have been able to catch something. It took him a moment to figure it out, but when he did, he nearly laughed in relief. The 'at rest' heart rate for an infant could reach up to 160 beats per minute and the 'at rest' breathing rate could go up to 50. And this was an apartment building. Matt was hearing the neighbors.

"Matt?"

He pulled the door open, yanked a startled Foggy inside, slammed the door shut and braced his back against it. "Are you alone?" he demanded in a harsh whisper.

"Uh... yeah," Foggy said nervously. "What's going on?"

"Has anyone been here looking for me?"

"No," Foggy said, clearly having no idea what was going on. "Matt, are you feeling okay?"

What was he doing? He could have... he'd almost hurt... He let out a long breath and slid to the floor. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I guess after yesterday..."

"Yeah." Matt heard a slightly-pained grunt and felt the floor vibrate as Foggy joined him on the carpet. "Yeah, I'd probably be a little jumpy, too."

Matt nodded. "The explosion wasn't an accident, Foggy," he said slowly.

"No." Foggy didn't sound surprised, which gave Matt pause. "No, buildings don't usually spontaneously explode. I was thinking about that last night, after you fell asleep."

"That reminds me," Matt said with a frown, "I thought we agreed that I was going to take the sofa."

He could hear the smile in Foggy's voice, when he replied, "No, Matt. _You_ said that you were taking the sofa and I _thought_ to myself, 'No way. It's my apartment. You don't get to dictate the sleeping arrangements. I take the sofa, you take the bed, and if you don't like it, you'll just have to deal.'" He shrugged—a gesture Matt could detect, even if Foggy didn't realize it. "Can I help it if I was so annoyed at you trying to tell me what to do in my own home that I actually spoke the last word out loud?"

Matt's lips twitched. "How long did it take you to come up with that justification?"

"I figured it out on the drive home." Foggy sighed. "And anyway, after you ate, you seemed pretty wiped out, so I suggested you lie down in here while I got the sofa set up. By the time I finished, you were out like a light."

He didn't need to check Foggy's heart rate to recognize the ring of truth in _that_ statement. "Thanks," he said simply. "I... I need to leave." The problem was, he didn't think he could stand up. He wasn't sure he could have stayed sitting, were it not for the door at his back.

Disapproval hung heavy in Foggy's tone. "Where are you going?"

"I don't..." Matt took a deep breath. "The explosion wasn't an accident. Kingpin arranged it. He arranged everything. Got Manolis to lie about my bribing that witness. Got the bank to lose my mortgage checks. My accountant dropped me. Glori dumped me."

"Okay," Foggy said slowly. "He could have been behind _most_ of that. But you haven't answered my question, counselor. Where are you going?"

"Damn it, Foggy! I'm not making this up and I'm not crazy!" His voice broke. "I've been under a lot of pressure and yes, it's been getting to me, but I know he's behind this. You have to believe me."

Foggy waited.

"I have to confront him. I have to make him give me my life back. I have to beat him, Foggy." His shoulders slumped.

"And until I do," his voice dropped to a near whisper, "I can't take the chance that ruining my life and blowing up my building was enough for him. He's already separated me from all the _things_ I thought were important to me. If he's getting ready to start on people..."

Foggy swallowed hard. "You're in no shape to go out right now, Matt. You're barely sitting upright."

"As long as I'm here, you're in danger."

Foggy took a deep breath. "Matt... Have you _met_ any of our high-profile clients? I'm... actually pretty used to it by now."

"This isn't a joke, Foggy!" Matt exclaimed. "If anything happens to you because of me I'll—"

"—Never forgive yourself?" Foggy interrupted. "Fine. Now you know how_ I'll_ feel if I read in tomorrow's _Bugle_ about something happening to _you_, knowing that it'll be my fault."

"It won't be your fault."

"If you're leaving to protect me, it damned well will!"

Matt shook his head. "Foggy..."

"Matt," Foggy was almost pleading, "don't shut me out. You said it yourself. Your life has been going to hell in a big way over the last few months. I'm here for you."

"I can't let you involve yourself."

"Shut up. I'm in."

"Foggy, no. This is something I have to deal with on my own."

"When you can barely stand up." Foggy sighed. "Fine," he said slowly. "That's not the only thing about this situation that's bugging me. If I hated someone enough to want to ruin their life, then personally, I'd want to gloat over every minute of it. If Kingpin's the same way, odds are he already knows you're here."

Matt struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. "Which is all the more reason for me to leave."

"Which leaves ME in more danger!" Foggy snapped. "If you walk out now and he comes looking for you or—as you just put it, fixing to separate you from the people you—care about, what exactly is going to keep me alive?"

"Once I'm gone—"

"What if they think you might come back?"

Matt's fingers whitened on the cane and he slid back down.

"I need you, buddy."

Matt nodded slowly. "All right. I'm just… so… tired."

"Well, maybe you'll feel more awake if you eat something," Foggy pointed out. "And after that, we should probably go out. You need a few things to wear and we're not exactly the same size."

Matt nodded. Now that Foggy mentioned it, he did feel more than a little grungy after wearing the same clothes for more than 24 hours.

"I'm also going to get a better chain for the door and see if the hardware store can give me any other advice about improving security. Just, you know, in case you're right about Kingpin."

"A chain won't stop him."

Foggy took a deep breath. "No," he said slowly. "But you will. Won't you… Daredevil?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks to Elle Weiss for free legal advice. Some dialogue from Daredevil Vol. 1 No. 228 (originally written by Frank Miller) has been tweaked for insertion in this chapter.

**Chapter 3**

Foggy hadn't anticipated the effect that his question would have on Matt, though given the way his best friend had been behaving, perhaps he should have. Matt lunged, closing the narrow gap between the two men, his hands extending toward Foggy's throat.

"What did you call me?" he demanded. "How did you know? How does he know?"

Unprepared, Foggy managed a single, frantic "Matt!" before the hands tightened, cutting off his air. He couldn't believe that this was happening. Gasping, he desperately brought his own hands up to Matt's arms, clawed at them, tried to pull them away. No good. The room started to fade before his eyes and all he could see was Matt's face, red with rage, barely human, filling his field of vision, then growing darker and darker as he choked, fighting desperately for oxygen...

As quickly as the attack had come, it ceased and he could breathe again. Matt had retreated back to 'his' spot against the door, holding up his hands as though he could see them. They were trembling, Foggy noted clinically, as he rubbed his neck, gulped in fresh air, and tried to ignore the voice in his head that told him that Matt had just tried to kill him.

"Foggy?" Matt's voice was a hoarse whisper, almost as though he'd been the one choking. "Are you...?"

"I'm right here, Matt," Foggy said wearily.

The tremor in Matt's hands intensified. "I thought... I almost... I could have..." He pressed himself against the door as though he would have retreated further had it not been in the way. "Oh, G-d, Foggy. I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

For what seemed like a long time, neither man moved nor spoke. Finally, Matt took a deep breath and expelled it with an audible sigh. "How did you find out?"

Foggy hesitated.

Matt flinched. "I'm not going to attack you again," he said. "I can't believe I..." his voice trailed off, but the look of horror on his face was unmistakable.

"Makes two of us." It was a weak joke, but it was the best he could do at the moment. "Maybe," Foggy ventured, "I could have timed that better."

"No." Matt was shaking his head. "No. And even if you had, that doesn't excuse my reaction. I..." He took another breath. "I think I'm sick, Foggy. Something... I think there's something wrong with my mind." His face took on a probing look. It seemed to Foggy that it was almost as though Matt was trying to _listen_ for his reaction.

Foggy inched closer, reached out, and placed a hand on Matt's arm.

Matt exhaled. "How _did_ you know?" he asked again.

Foggy joined him against the door. "I think it really gelled for me yesterday," he admitted. "When I found you with the costume. What was left of it, I mean," he added. "You know, there were a couple of things about your twin brother that never sat right with me."

Matt tilted his head, questioning.

"After you lost your dad," Foggy continued, resting a hand on Matt's shoulder, "when you asked me to come back with you and help you pack up his things, I found some old photo albums. Obviously, I didn't think I could ask you to tell me who was in the pictures, but I admit I was curious and I leafed through. They were all of you and your dad. Nobody else."

"You don't know that," Matt's lips twitched. "If Mike and I were identical twins..."

"Then there would have been a bunch of photos of the two of you, side-by-side, in cute matching outfits."

Under his hand, Foggy felt Matt relax. "Circumstantial, but I'll concede your point."

"Not to mention that, while I was preparing your defense argument for the grand jury hearing, I had occasion to review some of your paperwork. Michael is your middle name. Now, while it's not precisely illegal to give two of your kids the same name, it's pretty unusual."

Matt expelled a short breath, almost like a laugh. "True."

"As I recall," Foggy went on, "the first time you ever mentioned Mike was when Karen and I both thought that you were Daredevil. Looks like we were right all along."

"Surprise."

"I have to admit that faking blindness is a great cover."

"Excuse me?" His arm tensed.

"You pull it off well," Foggy continued calmly, "but every so often, you forget. Like when I got into the office early one day, noticed that one of the lights in the waiting room was burned out and decided to change it myself instead of waiting for building maintenance.

"I don't—"

"The phone rang in my office," Foggy continued, and I thought it might be important, so I ran to answer it, leaving the stepladder in the middle of the floor. When I got off the phone and went back, it was just in time to see you walk in. You had your cane in one hand, an armload of packages in the other, and even though the stepladder was right in your path, you didn't hesitate for a second. You just detoured around it when you were more than a foot away.

Matt's fingers clenched around his cane. "So you decided my blindness was an act."

"No. Not then. But there've been other incidences. Like how you found your way back to the dorm the night your father died, even though the police drove us to the station and there was no way you could have known where we were. The times I've had to drop something in your office and found the latest _Howard Journal _sitting on your desk and not the Braille edition. And sometimes, when we're walking out on the street and you aren't paying that much attention, you just hold your cane, but you don't actually swing it. Little things add up."

"They do indeed," Matt whispered. "What else?"

"You told Glori that you could see."

Matt winced. "That was temporary."

"Excuse me?"

Matt sighed. "Attention to detail always has been one of your strengths," he mused. Foggy watched his friend's jaw clench and unclench as he appeared to think something over. At last, Matt took a deep breath and exhaled. "Fine," he said wearily. "Yes, I'm Daredevil. And, as you correctly surmise, I created the Mike Murdock identity to allay your suspicions, when you and Karen came to that conclusion. Back in college, I told you that I lost my sight in a traffic accident and that's also true. But that wasn't the only thing that happened to me when the radioactive waste canister hit my face..."

* * *

"...And," Matt concluded, "again, I'm not trying to justify attacking you, but ever since I put it all together and realized that the Kingpin had learned that I was Daredevil, I've been trying to figure out how he found out."

Somewhere in the course of the explanation, Foggy had gone from resting his hand on Matt's arm to wrapping it around both of his shoulders. He removed it now. "So, after I confronted you just now, you decided I must have told him?" he demanded. "Boy, thanks a lot."

Matt slumped miserably. "I don't blame you for being mad," he said. "For weeks... months, now... it's felt like everyone was against me, like there was some... vendetta. I kept telling myself it was all in my head. Then when I found out that some of it wasn't, I... I started thinking that maybe I'd been right about everything. That..." His lips pressed together.

"That I might have deliberately botched your defense to ruin you," Foggy groaned.

"No!" Matt shook his head emphatically. "Foggy, I told you yesterday that you were brilliant. I meant it. You found precedents I never would have thought applied, you kept me out of prison, you did everything you could possibly have done—"

"And we still lost!" Foggy shot back, his anger dissolving in the face of yesterday's guilt.

"That wasn't your fault!" Matt gripped his forearm for emphasis. "I know that. I just... forgot."

"You forgot." Foggy took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's review. You told me that the radioactive waste enhanced your other senses."

Matt nodded. "Yes."

"Enhanced them to the point where you can tell whether someone is lying from the sound of their heartbeat."

"That's a primary indicator, yes. Sweat pheromones help too."

"All right." A hint of steel crept into his tone as he shrugged off Matt's hand. "Let's settle this, once and for all, then. Matt, I want you to listen to me and listen good, because I don't want to have to say it again. Are you ready? Okay. Now. I am not working with the Kingpin or any of your other enemies. I did not sell you out. I am on your side and, provided that you don't try to kill me again, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you need, until you're back on your feet again, for however long that takes. Meanwhile, I am going to work like hell to get your name cleared and your license restored—or die trying. What does your built-in polygraph make of _that_?" For a moment, there was no reaction and Foggy wondered whether Matt had read some indication of falsehood, buried on a level so deep that Foggy didn't realize it was there. Then there was a tentative grip on his forearm. He smiled and brought his free hand up to cover Matt's. "Well, Counselor?"

"You're telling the truth," Matt said raggedly. "I had to have known that before, too. I just..." His shoulders slumped. "Thank you. I know how badly I've messed things up, these last few months. You tried to warn me about the state of our practice. I ignored you. I... hated letting you down and..." Matt often forgot to face people when he was speaking to them, particularly when he was agitated. He turned toward Foggy now with a tired smile, "I guess I hated myself for doing it and figured you probably did, too."

"No," Foggy shook his head emphatically. "No way. I admit I was angry, but..."

"You had every right to be. And you would have had every right to... to hang up on me weeks ago, when I asked for your help after I first got the summons."

Foggy sighed. "Hey. You're still the best friend I've ever had. Even if you can be a real jerk sometimes." That got him a smile. Foggy grinned and stole a glance at his watch. "Now, is there any chance that we can have something to eat—lunch for me, breakfast for you—and hit the stores before they close?"

For answer, Matt rose to his feet. Foggy struggled to follow suit. Something poked him in the side.

"Here."

With a rueful chuckle, Foggy gripped the cane and let Matt pull him up. "Thanks."

"No, Foggy. Thank _you_."

* * *

Wilson Fisk was a careful man, given to calm deliberation. He made no move without planning, no action without a realistic appraisal of the consequences. Now he gazed impassively at the man whom he had set to shadowing Matthew Murdock and gave a slight nod. "Report."

The lieutenant swallowed. "It is indeed behavior of the most fraternate variety that I observe while perusing Matt Murdock, as per your advisement, Kingpin. He goes with Nelson via an automotive conveyance to Columbus Circle, whereupon he enters a local establishment. Such establishment is being of the apparellous nature. Nelson facilitates Murdock's shopping experience through the use of credit cards, these being of the gold and platinum variety..."

As Kingpin listened, he pursed his lips together in a deep frown. "Continue your surveillance," he said at last. "If you see Murdock leave Nelson's apartment alone, notify me immediately. Particularly," he added, "should it appear that he is seeking lodgings elsewhere."

So. At least one of Murdock's friends was still standing by him. Steps might need to be taken, but not hastily. Nelson was a clever litigator; one whom Kingpin knew would be an asset to his organization. And Murdock might not stay with him for long. Yes, Fisk smiled, he could afford to bide his time and await further developments. And if he did indeed need to deal with Nelson, it would be unfortunate, but there were plenty of other brilliant attorneys in New York.

He smiled. If it were possible to eliminate Nelson in such a way that Murdock appeared to be at fault... yes, that might tie up the loose ends rather neatly. This would bear additional thought. His smile grew malevolent as he began to plan.


End file.
